Fallout Wanderers
by E. S. Malaga
Summary: [This is my first one, i hope its alright, and i do intend to do a continuing series with this] Set in the Boston area 100 years after the War, just about. The series follows Mason, Nix, Cyrus, and Cain, four wastelanders who founded a mercenary company outside boston. (POSSIBLE M LATER FOR VIOLENCE, NOT GRAPHIC SEXUAL SITUATIONS, SO PLEASE DONT BE AFRAID)
1. Chapter 1

War. War never changes. On a dark night in October 2077, the sky was lit with the light of a thousand suns as the world fell in a rain of nuclear fire. Predicting this, the United States government teamed up with Vault-Tec, and a fraction of the population found solace in deep underground Vaults, to be opened on a later date, that their descendants would repopulate the broken World.

One of these Vaults opened exactly 100 years later, and the denizens of Vault 89 stepped forward into the Wastelands of Old Boston, the husk of the metropolis silhouetted in the sunrise. As a result of the Vault's pre-war technology, it became a target to the militant Brotherhood of Steel Boston Sect, and was constantly raided, but always defended itself with its thick titanium doors.

The Vault stayed inhabited, acting as the base to a new colony. The Vault traded with nearby towns, and several vault dwellers left to explore the Wastelands. These adventurers found work as scavengers, guards, bounty hunters, even traders, taking jobs as they could find them. The adventures of these wastelanders would take them to far and strange places, from desolate mountain peaks, to a war in the streets of the old world. And no matter how much time goes by; **WAR NEVER CHANGES.**

* * *

Mason squeezed his eyes tighter in an attempt to block out the light streaming in broken shafts through the boarded windows, blinding him even with his eyes shut. The throbbing in his head was growing increasingly worse and he finally opened his bloodshot eyes, squinting with gritted teeth at the rays of the desert Slowly he climbed out of bed, and held his head in his hands, trying to shake the white spots that danced in front of his eyes. Pulling a shirt over his filthy t-shirt on his way to the bathroom, he looked into the mirror.

His hair was filthy and matted, and the lines in his face were hardened by the shadows in the harsh light of the shack. Along his chin grew slightly grayed facial hair that was getting hard to call stubble, but there wasn't much he could do about that without risking slitting his own throat with a hunting knife. He looked down into the basin of water he had in the sink, and cupping a handful, he pulled his hair back away from his face, staring back into his reflection again. The throbbing in his head was showing no signs of letting up, and he sighed as he relieved himself then walked back into the rest of the shack, looking around.

It was barely worth calling a home, let alone an office he ran as well. The entire shack was about one room, with a bathroom closed off from the rest by a curtain, and a small closet on the other side of the building. In roughly the center of the room there was a desk facing the door, and a small army cot was nestled in the corner furthest from the entrance. A small locker for supplies was in the closet to the side. Mason wished he could afford a better office for the small mercenary company he led, or at least a separate fucking building to live in. He kicked some empty whiskey bottles into a corner and held his head as several loud knocks crashed onto the door, splitting his skull with his headache.

"God dammit.." he muttered, rubbing his temple. "It's open!" shouting at the visitor wouldn't help his head any, but Mason was sure it made him feel better. Buttoning his shirt up so he looked mildly presentable, he ran a hand through his hair again, turning away slightly from the sudden light pouring through the opened door, silhouetting a tall man's figure. "What do you want, we're closed."

"Mister Mason, what I want is entirely my business and none of yours," the voice was curt and brisk, and the door shut behind the man as he paused, and his face came into focus in the shuttered light. It was none other than James Madison, local bastard and Brotherhood kiss-ass. He was a taller man, and he led a comfortable life, kneeling to whoever had the most power around him, evidenced by his narrow body and un-calloused hands. He wore a suit, of all things; black with a little red tie, and the whole thing was pretty covered in dust. Nevertheless, he strode in always with an air of self importance and superiority. "But what I came to do, is offer you a job." and at this, he gave Mason a smug little look that left a sinking feeling in his gut that never led to anything good.


	2. Chapter 2

Mason turned away from Mr Madison, walking over to the windows to pull away the moth eaten curtains and loose boards to let more light in, ignoring the dull throb now settled in. "Sorry, _sir_" he emphasized the sir, mocking the so called 'businessman'. "But I'm afraid we aren't accepting contracts right now." he said, turning now, and sitting at the desk to meet the man's gaze. "See, we're just so swamped with jobs already, I doubt my outfit could handle any more strain." At least that part was true.

James stepped toward the desk with his head high, looking down his nose at Mason sitting at the desk. "As affluent as your...company..may be, I believe you may want to listen to my client's proposal." He reached inside his coat and began to pull out a holotape recording when Mason stopped him with a wave of his hand. His sentence cut short, somewhat taken aback.

"Please, don't bother pulling out your message. I told you, I'm not interested. If you really need the job done, try the Commonwealth." Mason rubbed the stubble on his face, eager to have his guest removed. God knows they'll send those androids to do any job. If it hadn't been this particular pile of shit to walk through his door, Mason would probably have forced him out at gunpoint. Hell, he may have even accepted the job, but as it was, he didn't need FlashFire to be associating with his type.

Naturally James tried further to argue his point when finally, Mason broke his professional facade with a brisk and final "For the last time _Mister Madison_, I dont need your damn business!", at which point the guest took out the holotape with hard eyes and a thin lip, placed it on the desk, and left without another word. Mason held his head in his hands, rubbing his temples as the door slammed shut, and he glared at the small recording left on his desk. He grumbled to himself . "That nut-licking bastard." frustrated, he hit the play button on the holotape, and he heard one of the last voices he ever expected from the tape.

"Hello Mason. My name is Knight Commander Joseph Caradin of the Brotherhood of Steel, and I sent Mister James Madison to you with a proposition". The paladin's voice came crisp over the speakers on the recording, and Mason stared down slack jawed at the the tape as it continued after its brief pause. "A sizable cache of pre-war technology has come to our awareness, but sadly the location of this proverbial treasure trove is.." the crackling of the tape played in silence as the Knight Commander struggled to find the right word. "..Inopportune. To utilize Brotherhood resources in securing and reclaiming this technology would be detrimental to the continuation of the Boston chapter."

"Therefore, I am coming to you, Mason. And I, on behalf of the Boston chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, ask you and your team, the 'FlashFire' Mercenary Company, to acquisition the technology located in the Sands, north of a tribal settlement of the Kara-qow. I'm aware of your organization's close connection to the nearby Vault 89, and hope that this contract will be the first step of building a rapport with the residents of the Vault." He could barely believe what he was hearing. The god damned Brotherhood of Steel was asking for his help after every attack, every raid on the Vault. What the hell could possibly make him want to do anything that would help the Brotherhood?

"That said, your company will not be forgotten in this arrangement. As payment for this job, you, and every man and woman you bring with you for this job, will be paid a sum of two thousand caps, or equivalent in technology or goods. Should you find these terms agreeable, please go to the bar in town to tell Mister Madi-BZZZADFT" the tape cut immediately to static as Mason swept it off the desk, sending it flying across the room where it crashed to the floor after colliding with the wall. Mason glared at the broken thing for a while, he lost track of how long, before storming out of the office with a slam of the door, leaving the holotape rolling in a broken loop, playing all it could salvage from the broken recording among the static.

"Mason..Sands north o...2000 caps-2000 caps. 2000 caps or equi-HISSSSSSSSSSSSSS"


End file.
